Another post-mortem blog post.

I awoke this morning – err late afternoon – much as I expected, that is to say, with the cold I could feel my body simultaneously craving and rejecting since way too many days standing outside for hours listening in rapt attention but not quite dressed for the weather, since seemingly below freezing temps in the Bedouin tent, since my one hour-ish of sleep on the last night (maybe one and a half if you count my brief nap in the lobby at the Caesar)… So I have no voice, I’m incessantly sniffling, and I’m thankful for my IDF sweatshirt here to keep me warm. Fortunately, though, this gives me an excuse for camping out in bed, flipping among photo albums, and generally rejecting the necessity to return to real life (oh, cold, cold, snowy real life).

So, in general avoidance of any physical movement, I found my Birthright application essays, written in October from another point of view, another person. What did I want from the experience? To learn? To feel? Why now? And what connection did I have, did my family have, with the sacred state of Israel?

When I sat down to write those essays, I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure why now, and I had to call my mom for information to support any connection to the then-foreign state of Israel. In fact, as I approached the trip, I couldn’t really explain any connection to Israel (despite having a great-grandfather who was extremely influential in the founding of the Jewish state), and I attempted to avoid sharing details of the trip with anyone here. I was sure they wouldn’t understand – and this was true, as people often asked if I was traveling with a church group – and I didn’t expect my feelings to change much in 10 days.

As I look back on those essays, I’m surprised to see it turns out that I found exactly what I said I needed, though that’s not to say my feelings didn’t change. I wrote about a community in which I have friends who have become family, but where I still lacked shorashim. I wrote that I desired Taglit for the connections, the shared culture, heritage, and tradition unique to the Jewish experience. I just didn’t truly expect to find it.

But traveling through the countryside, from the Banias to the Negev and Masada and down to the Dead Sea, to spending time immersed in Israeli hospitality, on an army base, and hearing tales of lives thereon, to walking to the Kotel staggered with emotion, Yad Veshem and feeling the way it touches each of us, Mount Hertzel, where I couldn’t bear the thought afterwards of sending our dearest friends back to army life, it became so clear that we made this connection (הקשר?) with each other, with the land, the people, and the stories.

Throughout the experience, I felt manipulated. I felt exactly what I was supposed to. I hurt when Taglit meant for me to hurt, I loved when I should, I laughed when I was meant to laugh. And I think that’s okay. Actually, I think it’s incredible.

And now, I miss when I’m supposed to miss. I miss the land, I miss our home, and I miss my family.

And I’m a little sick and mostly tired when I’m finally able to be a little sick and very tired, so I think I’m heading for a nap.

Yalla back.

-Emma Rothstein
Minneapolis, MN